When you're emotionally conflicted between joyful and ticked off because the clothes you bought last month are too big, AND all of your friends and co-workers insist you need to go to the doctor because no one eating the amount of bacon, olive oil, butter, pork chops, steak and hamburger covered in guacamole could possibly be losing weight (so I must have some dreaded disease - gasp !)

So here now. I've got now shorts to wear, and yet can't really complain. And none of my friends or family believe what I'm eating and losing weight with, so I just don't tell anyone any more

Originally Posted by Peggy

... your dog keeps looking at you, wondering when you're gonna be done with that bone "will there be any left for me?"
... you love showin off your new "guns" & wonder if NRA would be interested.
... the hardest part of doing a whole30 is the butter-separation anxiety.
... grapes are too sweet

I just had this happen. I got my kids grapes and tried a couple. I almost couldn't eat them, they were just to sweet

Try that pork fat on asparagus. I couldn't believe how good it was, I just ate the whole thing with my fingers, the rest of the family never saw it

I must have been born to be primal. I used to go drive through the Sierras with my dad when he hunted deer. One of his favorite stories was when I was around 10 or so and a deer ran into the road. Instead of yelling 'deer!' I yelled 'dinner!'. Sadly we were in the National part at the time, so no dinner that trip

In all of the universe there is only one person with your exact charateristics. Just like there is only one person with everybody else's characteristics. Effectively, your uniqueness makes you pretty average.

You prefer your lover's kiss to taste like steak and butter than mint.

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, steak in one hand, chocolate in the other, yelling "Holy F***, What a Ride!"
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When you read this thread and it makes you soooo starving that you run to the kitchen and strip the skin off the roast chicken that is *supposed* to be tomorrow's lunch and wolf it all down. And then you are sad because you don't have it for tomorrow.

And when you spend half and hour chasing small children round your house growling like a bear and realise with great pleasure that you have just obeyed the 'playing' rule and the 'sprinting' rule.